


Incompatible

by 4vrAFangirl



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Light Angst, M/M, Pining, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2019-06-12 20:47:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15348393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/4vrAFangirl/pseuds/4vrAFangirl
Summary: “You alright, son?” There’s a wince. Barely perceptible, Hank’s watching too closely now to miss it, but that doesn’t mean he understands it. Red again, then, with a deep and entirely unnecessary breath, the LED finally turns back to its usual calm electric blue.





	Incompatible

**Author's Note:**

> Want a peek behind the scenes of writing these stories? Got a prompt or idea for a fic you'd like to see? I write for all manner of fandoms and ships! Drop me a note on my Tumblr: [4vrafangirl](http://www.4vrafangirl.tumblr.com)

It had taken some time, Hank reflects, thinking back over the early days of working with his new partner from Cyberlife. But, he can think of plenty of human partners who butted heads initially, even some that continue to do so. Sure they’re encouraged to play nice, but really, so long as the job gets done the brass isn’t too particular about them being a terribly tight-knit family like so many of those buddy-cop shows that were popular back in the day. He and Connor though, well, the kid had grown on him despite his best interests to remain aloof and keep him at arm’s length.

In fact, it’s only when Connor does that disgusting little trick with his fingers and mouth to analyze evidence at a scene that Hank even gives much thought about the differences between them. That and the LED. Many androids in the events leading up to the uprising or the subsequent peace and civil rights granted in its wake have elected to do away with them. Connor did not.

“I am Connor. I am an android built by Cyberlife Industries, and I am a deviant,” he had replied simply with a shake of his head when Hank had asked. “All of those things will remain true, with or without my LED.” Hank had nodded, although he couldn’t say as he entirely understood. Wouldn’t he prefer to pass as human? “There are still those who will think poorly of me, knowing what I am,” he’d continued matter-a-factly, “but you don’t. So I won’t either.”

Something tightens in his chest at those words. A little voice in the back of his mind urges him to warn Connor against trusting him with so much. That his good opinion isn’t really worthy of the weight he’s assigning it, but the words stick in the back of his throat. It’s entirely selfish, but it does feel good. He’s not felt good, not truly, in a very long time. He’ll simply have to endeavor to deserve this trust he’s showing him, goddamnit.

“Working this case with you has helped me to realize Deviants are greater for having overcome their programming constraints, not less. Besides,” Connor added, a little softer, gaze slowly dropping down to his keyboard in an incredibly human-like gesture of embarrassment. “It seems even with all my negotiating enhancements I’ve still got a lot to learn about making myself clear. The light, might be useful. When it ceases to be, maybe I’ll get rid of mine too,” he’d shrugged.

Checking the color of Connor’s LED from time to time feels a bit like cheating on an exam, but Hank can’t pretend he hadn’t been right in suggesting it might prove useful. His LED is yellow now. Nothing terribly unusual about that. It’s the color Hank has come to associate with Connor thinking or learning. Except that his partner’s brain is a million times faster than his own. Connor’s light isn’t often stuck on yellow like this, and he’s sure that a moment ago, for the briefest of moments, he’d seen it flash red. Danger. It does it again, before flashing back to yellow once more.

“You alright, son?” There’s a wince. Barely perceptible, Hank’s watching too closely now to miss it, but that doesn’t mean he understands it. Red again, then, with a deep and entirely unnecessary breath, the LED finally turns back to its usual calm electric blue.

“I’m fine, Lieutenant,” Connor nods, plastering on a smile that falls short of convincing, nearer to the placating fake bullshit ones when they’d first met. Hank arches an incredulous eyebrow, but Connor simply ignores it. With his partner suddenly intently focused on the many open tabs on his monitor with renewed interest, Hank decides to let the matter slide. At least for now.

He doesn’t give it much thought when Connor excuses himself a short while later and heads to the bathroom. It’s not until they’re grabbing their jackets and he’s asking him if he’d like to come out with him for a bit that he looks for a color, for a circle of light only to realize it’s no longer there. Connor’s gotten rid of it.

Connor watches for a moment as Hank realizes the change, studying his reaction, but finding him difficult to gauge. This seems to be one of the few things he was better at before he became deviant. At least, where Hank is concerned. Now that he feels, emotions can cloud his reads of a situation or individual, and Hank has become... a very unique individual, at least for him.

“I think being deviant finally shorted it,” Connor offers with a vague gesture to his now unblemished temple. It’s- well, it’s not an entirely dishonest assessment. Truthfully, three colors seems woefully inadequate to express himself or what he feels anymore. There is simply too much, and more and more, all at once. A cacophony of sensory input, thoughts, and feelings. There’s an urge to find a way to muffle, or even silence it and Connor finds a newfound understanding and empathy for Hank’s relationship with alcohol and a moment’s regret he can’t get drunk himself. Perhaps there’s a switch, or a subroutine somewhere...

Love, or passion at least, isn’t a completely unfamiliar concept. Being one of the primary motivations for crime, Connor was programmed with some understanding of it. It is only now, however, experiencing it first-hand, he recognizes how rudimentary his knowledge up to this point has been.

There are many kinds of love. That of a parent. Unconditional, and a protective instinct superseding all others even self-preservation. The kind Hank had with his son Cole, the kind he has for Connor. And that of a lover. Of being *in* love. Like they’d seen with the deviant Traci and her partner at the Eden Club. The kind Connor feels looking at or even just thinking about his partner. And with this new knowledge and understanding had come recognition, the most painful of his experiences yet, the knowledge that these two kinds of love are incompatible.

Hank loving him, particularly given his trauma and past history with androids is a marvel. Nothing to be taken for granted or scoffed at, just because it will never be romantic. Connor remembers every hug, every smile, every laugh, every moment. They are all as infinitely precious to recall as they have the potential to be painful. The logical solution baring finding that button or subroutine to turn these particular feelings off might be to out some distance between them, even sever ties entirely. But Connor is no longer governed by logic alone. The thought of leaving Hank alone again, of being alone himself feels like what he imagines suffocation must.

Perhaps, Connor muses, following closely at Hank’s side to one of his favorite food places to pick up some dinner, this is yet another instance of what it means to be human.


End file.
